Birthday Parties and Pigeons
by FullmetalWizard1995
Summary: Even a Fuhrer's best intentions for a birthday party can't compete with the agenda of pigeons, but everything's always alright at the end of the day. Oneshot, post-manga.


**This is a post-manga fic, written while on a road trip. Real short and sweet, it is, but I hope you like it anyway. **

**Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is the property of Hiromu Arakawa, aka not me. **

**P.S.- anyone who can tell me what I based the argument between Roy and Riza at the beginning here off of will earn themselves a virtual hug. **

It was a warm summer day in East City. The sun was shining, the sky was a clear, endless blue, and the air smelled fresh and clean. In her backyard, seven-year-old Emily Mustang sat on the grass among several of her friends, her long black hair brushing the ground and warm brown eyes intently watching what was in front of her. A small wooden platform had been set up and a starry purple curtain hung off the clothesline, cutting off half the platform from view. Emily could just make out her parents' voices arguing from behind the curtain over the final act of her birthday show.

"Okay, Roy," came her mother's voice, "it's time for your big act!"

"Uh, yeah, Riza. What do I do?"

"Hmm, let's see…I know: you do-" the sound cut out here as Riza's voice dropped to a whisper.

Then Roy came back in, loud and clear: "I don't want to do that, I'll look silly!"

"Oh, come on. It'll be fun!"

"Nope," Roy was adamant. "Not gonna do it."

"…it's for the kids."

"Well…okay. But they had better not laugh!"

"Just get out there!"

From behind the curtain, Emily watched Roy's head pop out and scan the crowd. Soon enough the rest of him followed, and then he was standing in the middle of the platform, face contorted as if with nerves. His one eye was twitching. In his hands were three yellow balls. As his daughter and her friends watched on, Mustang began to juggle.

Contrary to what some may have been thinking, Roy's juggling wasn't a failure…at first. He got started smoothly enough and, after three tosses and a near fumble, got into a good rhythm. The children were thrilled, and Emily was awed by her father's apparent juggling prowess.

And then the pigeons came.

The first one caused no trouble at all, alighting on the clothesline with hardly a shake. It was the following swarm, all copying their leader and landing on the line. It sagged under the weight of all the birds, and then, in a flurry, they all took off at once and chaos ensued.

Relieved of the weight of the birds, the clothesline shot up, dislodging the curtain. The starry purple sheet fell on Roy, and his yellow juggling balls were scattered. Riza's backstage position was exposed, and she stood bewildered and ashamed as she watched her husband run around, shaking his fists at the pigeons and still with the curtain on his head, bellowing: "Damn you, pigeons! Even on vacation I'm still the Fuhrer! You can't do this to me!"

The other small children laughed hysterically at the sight of their Fuhrer tramping around blindly and raging at the pigeons, which had all but disappeared by this point so in essence he was yelling at thin air. Emily sighed and hung her head, allowing her dark bangs to conceal the pink blush forming on her cheeks.

Riza decided that this was enough. She marched out and took her husband by the shoulders, stiffly directing him back to the platform. Upon arriving there, she ripped the starry sheet off him. Their eyes met and she glared; an unseen message passed between them, and Roy turned to the children and announced, "Cake time, everyone!"

There were many joyous cries at this and some mad scrambling to get a spot at the picnic table. Riza ducked inside the back door of the quaint, one-storey Victorian house that Roy had lived in while stationed in East City. It now served as their vacation home to get away from Central. Off the granite countertop Riza collected the round chocolate birthday cake. She stuck in seven candles, lit them, and carried out the cake; she placed it in front of her smiling daughter. "Happy birthday, Emily."

"Happy birthday!" chorused the little girl's friends. "Make a wish!"

Emily sat quiet for a minute, thinking, and then took a deep breath and blew out all seven candles. Her friends applauded, and Roy reached down and ruffled his daughter's hair. She swatted his hand away.

"Daddy!" Emily whined. Roy smiled; though she would never admit it, he knew Emily loved it when he babied her. Both in spite of and out of love for, he massaged her head once more before complying with Riza: he took the knife from her and began to cut the cake.

* * *

Later that night, when all Emily's friends had left and the stars were out, Riza tucked her daughter into bed.

"Mom, I don't wanna go to bed!" Emily's pouting face was all that showed from between the mountain of pillows and comforters.

"You need your sleep, dear," Riza lectured. "You're a growing girl, and…" she trailed off; she watched her old dog, Black Hayate, as he sauntered through the door and, with relative difficulty, climbed up on Emily's bed and took his place next to her. He curled up protectively next to the girl, his head near the edge of the bed. Riza smiled; Hayate may have been too old to be service to the military, but she knew that nothing bad would ever happen to her daughter so long as Hayate was around. She leaned down and kissed Emily's forehead. As the little girl's eyes drifted closed, Riza stood and exited the room quietly, closing the door behind her.

**R&R, please! Feedback makes me happy :) **


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